


ask me to stay

by lilythesilly



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, because there's a lot of pining, did a Christmas tree write this?, oblivious idiots, taylor swift made me do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilythesilly/pseuds/lilythesilly
Summary: “Sorry. Um, I got a text and it...cut us off. Anyway. Um, sorry I bothered you. I’ll just...text you and ask you to delete these. Be on the lookout for my Christmas list, because forewarning, everything on it requires preorder. Or, you could just, y’know, come home for Christmas.”Patrick waits for the hitch in David’s breath that he knows is coming and the quiet admission:“I mean it, Patrick. Just...come home. Please.”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 43
Kudos: 265





	ask me to stay

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I listened to _'tis the damn season _and that song just screamed "fic me", so I did.__

Patrick drops the last box onto the floor of his kitchen, wipes his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his sweater and looks at the figure lounging on his couch, “Thank you so much for helping me bring up all of these boxes— oh wait, I did that by myself.” 

David shrugs and sits up. “I _am_ helping. I’m figuring out which furniture layout will help make this place look bigger,” he pauses and looks around the small one bedroom Patrick is renting in Toronto, “because it is going to need _a lot_ of help.”

Patrick laughs and grabs his water bottle from one of the boxes and flops down on the couch next to David. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” 

David is quiet and when Patrick glances over he’s examining the cuff of his sweater intently, and Patrick has known him long enough to know that means he’s gearing up to talk about something Serious. “So,” David says after a minute, “are we far enough away from Schitt’s Creek to talk about it?” 

And suddenly Patrick is the one examining something intently. He messes with the label on the water bottle and picks at it until he can pull it off. He’s pressing his finger against the residual glue left over when he finally manages to say, “I called off the engagement.” 

David nods, “I figured that when you asked me to help you move to Toronto.” He feels David’s fingers tapping on his wrist, so he finally looks up at him. “What happened?” 

Patrick frowns. “The deposit on Town Hall was non-refundable.” 

“I don’t understand. I mean, Town Hall is terrifying, don’t get me wrong. I’d get married at the motel before I’d get married at Town fucking Hall— but, that’s not it, is it?” 

“It’s just,” Patrick swallows and tries to focus on breathing, “it suddenly felt so permanent, y’know? Like I was _actually_ going to have to go through with it.”

“Well, yeah. That’s what happens when you ask someone to marry you. You eventually get married. But I’m still not getting it,” David says, “I thought you loved Rachel.” 

“I did— I do,” he says and his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest, “but, just...not the way I think I’m supposed to.” He looks up at David, and he sees the kid he met on his first day of freshman year, who for some reason decided he wanted be his friend. His best friend. Who has never judged him for anything. “I’m, uh...I’m gay.”

David nods, “Ok.”

The need to run away and hide is itching underneath Patrick’s skin, and all he can do is shift uncomfortably. He sinks down on the couch and rubs his hands over his eyes, “I should’ve known— that I’m gay. Right? It’s...shouldn’t I have known? I feel like I should’ve known.”

He feels David’s shoulder nudge his own and he looks over to see David has also sunk down so they’re eye level, “Not necessarily. There’s no...timeline to this. Everyone figures it out in their own time.” 

“When did you know?” 

David looks up and thinks for a moment before saying, “I knew I was queer before I knew I was pan, if that makes sense? I mean, I knew I wasn’t straight, but it took me a while to figure out what label I wanted to use. And even then, you know labels aren’t really my thing,” he shifts around a bit so he’s leaning on his side to look at Patrick. “Have you told anyone?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly, “just you.” 

“Well, thank you for telling me,” David smiles softly for a moment before he moves it over to the corner of his mouth. “What prompted this? Did–did you, um, meet someone?” 

_Yeah, at fourteen._ “No.”

“And do you– do you think you’ll ever move back to Schitt’s Creek?” David asks and adds lightly, “Y’know it _is_ the place where everyone fits in.”

Patrick huffs a laugh and looks up, because he can’t look at David when he says, “I don’t know...probably not.” 

“Oh,” he hears David say quietly, “ok.” 

Patrick looks back at David and he wants to reach out and grab his hand. _Ask me to come back_ , he thinks. _Ask me ask me ask me—_

A loud _honk!_ breaks Patrick out of the memory as he passes the Elmdale sign. Forty minutes. Ok cool. He’s forty minutes away from Schitt’s Creek. 

He taps his hands on his wheel, trying to channel his anxiety into _something_. Anything. He fiddles with the radio a bit and tries to find a station. 

“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…_ ”

Patrick shuts the radio off because, yeah he can’t— he can’t listen to that right now.

Crap. 

He can’t do this. 

He hasn’t been home in five years. No one is going to be happy to see him. 

Why would he even think he would be able to do this? 

He feels the familiar icy cold panic crawl up his spine and it makes him shiver and roll his shoulders back, like that’ll help ease the tension that has firmly taken up residence in his muscles. 

He fiddles with his phone and pulls up his voicemail, letting the three saved messages play on a loop:

“ _Hi David, it’s Patrick. Was just calling to say hi, and you know, shame you for not coming home for the fifth year in a row. It’s the first Christmas at the Apothecary and Alexis has forced me to do a bunch of events that are not on brand with the store. So, um, call me back and I can tell you about them. Ok, ciao._ ” 

Beep. Next voicemail.

“ _Hi,_ Patrick _. Yeah I think–I think I called you David? Which. That’s not your name, so you can just delete that text–the voicemail, um. Sorry. I don’t know what the fuck was in that joint Stevie gave me. But honestly Patrick, Alexis is making me host an ornament themed sip and paint, which is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of, only followed by the cookie decorating event which is— we don’t even_ sell _cookies. But um, that’s— I don’t even know why I’m telling you this, it’s so stupid. You aren’t even here. But I miss you and—_ ”

Beep. Next voicemail. 

“ _Sorry. Um, I got a text and it...cut us off. Anyway. Um, sorry I bothered you. I’ll just...text you and ask you to delete these. Be on the lookout for my Christmas list, because forewarning, everything on it requires preorder. Or, you could just, y’know, come home for Christmas._ ”

Patrick waits for the hitch in David’s breath that he knows is coming and the quiet admission: 

“ _I mean it, Patrick. Just...come home. Please._ ” 

And what was Patrick supposed to do, just ignore it? 

* * *

Daylight savings makes it look later than it is, so Patrick doesn’t feel as bad when he pulls into his parents driveway and sees the lights on. 

He’s barely out of the car when the front door opens and his mother is coming down the driveway. “Mom!” he laughs, “It’s freezing outside!”

His mother waves him off and pulls him into a hug. He could be thirty or thirteen— there’s nothing in the world quite like his mother’s hugs. He’s got a good eight inches on her but he somehow still manages to fold into her warmth. 

She smells like sugar cookies and earl gray tea and like home. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she breathes and any worry or fear Patrick felt about coming back immediately melts away, “I’m just so happy that you’re home.” 

“Marcy, let the boy breathe before you both get hypothermia!” His dad laughs from the doorway. 

“Oh hush you,” she says and pulls away, “Clint get out here and help your son with his bags!” 

“Oh, he’s _my_ son now that something needs to be moved.” 

Patrick laughs and goes to the back of his car to pull his things out of his trunk, “I got it, dad. I don't have a lot,” he says and pulls out his duffle and the small suitcase he brought to hold the presents, “you guys go inside.” He shoos his mother away and shuts his trunk before locking his car. 

His childhood home looks pretty much the same, save for a few small touches here and there. The scuffs on the living room wall that are actually marks of Patrick’s height growing up are the same and the coffee table that he cut his head open on when he was four is the same, and the rug underneath it—

Is a different rug.

“This is a nice rug,” he calls out to his parents who have moved into the kitchen, “where did you get it?”

“Oh,” his mother smiles when she appears in the doorway, “David gave it to us, when he opened the store. We tried to pay for it, but he wouldn’t let us. Oh, he’s just the sweetest boy.”

“I like it,” he says lightly. 

“Are you going to see David while you’re in town?” his dad asks, coming up behind his mother. 

Patrick is still staring at the rug, his stomach doing a little flip at the sight of something so clearly David in his parents' house. “Yeah, I’ll probably go see him once I get settled in.” 

He’s still feeling a little cold, so his mother offers to make him some tea. He takes stock of the kitchen, which is basically the same except _—_ “I see you're frequent visitors of Rose Apothecary,” he says, taking note of all of the bottles (soap, olive oil, wine) and towels folded on the counter branded with the RA logo. 

“Well, it is the only general store in town,” his father says and hands his mother the box of tea to steep. 

She throws a few bags into the teapot. “That’s true, but it’s also— oh, what did he call it? A general store but also _—_ ”

“A very specific store.” Patrick finishes with a small smile, “I’ll have to go by later.”

“Oh! I actually do need a few things, if you wouldn’t mind picking them up?” His mom says and goes over to her purse to grab a slip of paper, “And I mean, seeing David is a bonus, right?” 

Patrick huffs and plucks the list from her fingers. While his parents are loving and accepting...they’re not exactly subtle. 

It took Patrick longer than he’s proud of to come out to his parents (“Coming out is a very personal thing and should only be done on your terms” he hears David say in his head). He thought about telling them tons of times _—_ dropping it into casual conversation, or on Facetime, or when he was feeling particularly anxious, jut sending a text to get it over with. But every time he tried, shame would sit in his chest and force the words down and before he knew it a year and a half had gone by. 

He's able to work most of it out in therapy (he came out in his mid-twenties only after breaking off his engagement, moving to a different city and realizing he might be in love with his best friend _—_ of course he went to therapy), but coming out to his parents was the last hurdle he wasn’t able to get over.

He knew his parents were good people, and were...accepting of gay people. But might change when it goes from being accepting of gay people in general and being accepting of your gay son. And Patrick didn’t know if he could handle that. 

He knew his parents could tell something was off, and eventually they got so worried that they came down to Toronto to check on him. He remembers sitting at his tiny kitchen table in his tiny apartment, looking at his parents and just willing himself not to have a panic attack. But that familiar sinking feeling was settling over his whole body (his shame and panic were so often tied together he wasn't able tell the difference between them anymore) and he couldn’t move. 

There must’ve been something in his eyes (some people [David] have gone on full rants about how loud and expressive his eyes are), because his mom reached over and grabbed his hand and called him her sweet boy, like she always had, and his dad put his hand on his shoulder (being the anchor Patrick always needed him to be) and for a moment, he felt ready to tell them. So he did.

And his father squeezed his shoulder and his mother was still calling him her sweet boy and all of those feelings he was holding onto (the shame, the panic, the fear, the anger) just exploded, and he cried. Like a lot. 

Later, once his emotions weren’t so close to the surface, they asked if he was seeing anyone, and when he said no, there was something in his mother’s eyes— Patrick thinks it was disappointment? 

“Oh,” she had said lightly, “we just thought that...you might’ve been seeing David.” 

Since then his parents' claims of dropping the idea of him and David together are only in name because there’s always a flicker of _something_ whenever they mention him in passing conversation.

Patrick eyes the list warily, “ _Mom._ ” 

“What?” she asks innocently, “It’s just when you talk about David you can sometimes look a little...wistful.”

Patrick feels his face flush. Ok maybe he’s not exactly subtle either.

He taps the list against his palm, “I’ll pick this stuff up later. I’m gonna unpack first.”

He grabs his tea and his duffle bag, leaving the luggage of wrapped presents in the living room with the tree, and heads up to his room.

His room has basically been turned into another guest room. All of his posters, and trophies and little knick knacks that made his adolescence have been packed up in boxes in the garage, but a few photos still remain. 

Even though none of his stuff is here anymore, he can still picture everything so clearly. Getting high with David and Stevie for the first time, David sitting on his bed, helping pick which sweater for his first date with Rachel— study sessions and sleepovers and movie nights. 

After he unpacks his clothes, he notices the wool throw embroidered with a Rose on his bed.

* * *

Patrick pulls his car into the parking lot of the high school and pulls on a scarf, toque and some gloves. It’s a short walk to the baseball field, but he takes a turn at the last second to head for the bleachers. He walks all the way to the top of the middle section and takes a seat. He hisses at the initial contact of the freezing steel bench, but after a minute it’s not so bad.

This is his favorite place on the entire field, because he can see everything. If he squints he can see the Championship banners above the dugout, and for a moment, he misses it. The game, his family cheering in the stands, bribing Stevie and David to come with the promise of hot dogs. 

He wonders, sometimes. What his life would look like if never left. Where he eventually became a full time employee at Ray’s, helping him with small businesses, maybe even helping David open Rose Apothecary— coach baseball at the high school, or join a rec league. 

He doesn’t wonder if he would be with David, but the thought is there anyway. 

In reality though, leaving was the right decision, he thinks. If he hadn't, he knew for a fact he would’ve ended up marrying Rachel, which wouldn’t have been fair to either of them. He doesn’t even have the courage to tell David how he feels now, there’s no way he would’ve had the courage five years ago. 

“Please tell me you aren’t one of those people who cling to their high school experience and refer to them as the 'glory days'.”

Patrick looks down and sees Stevie leaning up against the gate. “Maybe I am,” he smiles, “are you one of those people who still likes to get high underneath the bleachers?” 

She scoffs, “Maybe I am.” 

She clambers up the bleacher steps ungracefully before dropping down next to him. “Fuck,” she says and pulls her jacket closer around her, “it’s freezing. Why are you out here?”

Patrick takes off his scarf and offers it to her. She eyes it warily, never one to accept anything willingly from anyone, before eventually grabbing it from him. “I don’t know," he says, "I like to come here to think. It’s one of the only places that gives me perspective and it was too dark to go to Rattlesnake Point.” 

“Normally I would play this ‘what are you thinking about’ game with you, but it’s too cold out for this shit,” she says and wraps the scarf around her, “so I will just say, he misses you too.” 

“Who?”

Stevie gives him a deadpan look. “Ray.”

Patrick laughs and fiddles with the tips of his gloves because he doesn’t want to make eye contact with her. “Am I that obvious?” 

“Patrick you’ve been coming up here to think about David since he moved here when we were freshman and you thought he hated you.” 

“Well, to be fair, he did.” 

“Well, to be fair, you can be a little snippy when you think you’re flirting.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes, “Whatever. I can be nostalgic if I want, it’s the first time I’ve been home in a while.” 

“Yeah,” Stevie snorts, “I noticed.” and Patrick only feels mildly put off by that, which is decent for a conversation with Stevie. “So are you actually going to do something about it this time, or are you going to continue to pine from afar?” 

“I think I waited too long,” he says and goes back to messing with his glove, “I mean, what would I even say? ‘Hey, so in reexamining my life I think I’ve been in love with you for a really long time, wanna get coffee before I have to leave again?’” 

“Y'know I’m pretty sure there’s a shitty Lifetime movie with that exact same plot,” Stevie says and bats his hand away. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to either of us, Stevie.”

“Ugh,” she groans and tips her head back, like she would rather do anything else in this moment, “how long have we known each other?”

Patrick shrugs, “Since we were five.”

“Yeah,” she says and swats his shoulder, “We’ve known each other for twenty five years. You’ve been my friend for a quarter of my life, even though you didn’t tell me you were moving away _—_ ”

“I said I was sorry about that!”

“Whatever. Point is, I know you. You and David both have the shitty quality of pushing your feelings so far beneath the surface the only one who’s being hurt is you. Except it’s not just you this time _—_ ”

“ _Stevie,_ ” he warns.

“No, Patrick, you need to hear this. David is just as gone on you as you are on him _—_ ”

“No, he’s not!”

“Patrick, denial is not just a river in Egypt,” she sings and he only laughs a little bit even though she’s making fun of him, before sobering up for a moment, “Look, I don’t do sincerity, or feelings or y’know general emotions that aren’t apathy, but. You moved away Patrick. You don’t spend every day with him anymore, but I do. I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Even if you do,” Patrick says while trying to think over the speed of his heart rate, “it’s probably not like that anymore. Five years is a really long time.” 

“Yeah,” Stevie says, “I know.”

Stevie has been the strongest person Patrick knows since they were five years old and she came up to him, alone at his lunch table, and told him that she was going to be his friend. Just like that. He was a shy, quiet kid, who showed his emotions a little too openly for most of the kids in their year, but not Stevie. She took him under her tiny flanneled wing and taught him how to swear, how to make snarky jokes, how to sneak out of class without having the school call his parents. He forgets sometimes that things can hurt her too.

Like her best friend disappearing to another city for five years. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come home,” he says after a while.

Stevie sniffs and discreetly wipes her eye on the corner of his scarf. “You’re an asshole, Brewer.”

“I know.”

She nods. “Good. Welcome home.”

She gets up and shakes her body a bit to get the warmth back before offering him her hand, “Wanna head over to the store? I’m sure we can catch the end of the ornament painting event David’s hosting and drink all of his leftover wine.”

Patrick laughs and grabs her hand, “Anybody ever tell you you’re a really good friend, Stephanie?”

Stevie drops his hand and shoves his shoulder as hard as she can. “Oh my god, _fuck you_ , don’t ever call me that again.”

* * *

Patrick has seen pictures of Rose Apothecary online (Alexis Facetimed him when she set up their instagram and wouldn’t hang up until she could confirm he followed them herself), and he even has a couple products at home, but it’s nothing like seeing it in person.

It has nice colors of sand and stone that are accented with twinkling lights and tastefully placed garland for the holidays. In front of the display window sits a decorated Spruce tree (Real, of course. “What about my brand says ‘artificial’, Patrick?”) with white and gold ornaments and ribbon fashioned out of burlap, and a white gold menorah on the table next to it (he knows it's not David’s personal menorah, because his is silver and embossed with roses).

His eyes flick over to where David is ringing up a bottle of wine up for someone and Patrick has to pretend he’s looking at the framed business license on the wall instead of openly staring at David. He’s wearing a cream cable knit sweater and it looks so comfy that Patrick literally wants to _wrap_ himself in it. 

Once the customer clears out Patrick walks over to the cash register and leans on the counter while David is distracted trying to catalogue the receipt. “Is the ornament themed sip and paint over?” he asks casually once David has dropped the receipt into a leather pouch. 

David’s head snaps up and a bright grin breaks out across his face before he seems to remember the other people in the store and pushes it to the corner of his mouth, and Patrick has to bite his lip so his smile doesn’t turn into a cheesy grin. 

“Not yet,” David says and adds, “unfortunately.”

Patrick picks up one of the ornament kits on a nearby table and places it on the counter, “I’ll grab a bottle as well— if not to save you from Stevie drinking all of your inventory without paying for it.” 

David grabs a bottle of red and shoots Patrick a wink, and Patrick has to roll his eyes, if not for the fact that David’s wine analogy is annoyingly accurate. He scans both items, “Unfortunately our friends and family discount was an opening day exclusive only.” 

Patrick laughs and pulls out his wallet, “I don’t mind paying full price. Gotta support local business and all that.” he says and remembers the paper in his pocket, “Oh! Before I forget, my mom has some things she wanted me to pick up for her.” 

David grabs the slip of paper from his hands, “She keeps me in business, your mother,” he says and glances at the list, “I can grab all this stuff for her if you want to get started on your _painting_.”

He shoos Patrick off and Patrick wanders over to the table where several people are painting ornaments. He spots Stevie with Alexis in the corner and makes his way over. 

As soon as he reaches them Stevie takes the bottle out of his hands so she can open it. He rolls his eyes and opens the packaging with the ornament inside. 

“Oh my god, Patrick! Look at how cute you are with your little curly hair and rosy cheeks,” Alexis smiles and boops his nose, “I’ve missed you, button.” 

Patrick flushes and rolls up his sleeves so he doesn’t get any paint on his sweater. “Hi, Alexis. I missed you too.” 

Stevie snorts and points the corkscrew at him, “What? You didn’t miss me?”

“I just bought you wine, isn’t that the same thing?”

Stevie grins and hands him a glass, having obviously answered correctly. He notices a few people from town— Jocelyn and Gwen wave hello and Ronnie glances up and nods once before going back to her ornament, but the store is filled with a lot of people he doesn’t recognize, “This place is really packed.” 

Alexis grins proudly, “It’s part of a winter series I’m curating. Our next event is cookie decorating—”

David pops by to grab the wine glass out of Stevie’s hand. “Where exactly are you getting these cookies, Alexis? We don’t sell cookies—”

“Ugh, David _I told you_ I’m taking care of it.” She says and picks up her phone before disappearing into the back room.

David scoffs before he leaves with Stevie’s glass and she settles for drinking straight out of the bottle. “What if I wanted more of that?” he asks.

Stevie snorts, “What, are you suddenly scared of my spit, Brewer? Remember that time you kissed me in the eighth grade?” 

“That was _spin the bottle_ ,” Patrick flushes, “and you said we would never speak about it again.”

Stevie just laughs and takes another sip from the bottle. 

Patrick is making small talk with Jocelyn and Twyla about his job in Toronto when the bell jingles over the front door and Jake walks in. 

Patrick immediately feels his skin tingle and he looks back down at the brush in his hands. Jake is, well, _hot_. And yeah, Patrick is totally in love with David, but he’s not _blind._

He watches Jake walk over to David and before they can even start a conversation Jake leans down to drop a kiss on David’s mouth and Patrick short circuits. 

Is David dating Jake? 

Oh, fuck. David might be dating Jake. 

Patrick runs through the list of reasons why David would reject him and dating Jake is not one of them. Which is stupid, he thinks. They’re both hot and charming and it’s not like David is carrying some sort of _torch_ for Patrick.

Why wouldn’t he tell—

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stevie says quietly next to him, “I can hear you spiraling from here. And _no_ , before you ask, they are not a thing.” 

Before he can respond Jake comes over behind Stevie. “Patrick,” Jake says warmly and Patrick’s heart picks up because, oh god is Jake going to kiss him too— is that just how he says hello?

“Jake,” He says and clears his throat because his voice is a little too high pitched for his liking, “um, hi. It’s good to see you, man.”

Jake smiles, “It’s good to see you too. I love that sweater on you, it really brings out your lips.” Patrick has to glance away because he is definitely blushing. Like, his face is probably a very bright red. “I’m just here to grab Stevie. You ready to go, pony?”

Patrick’s head snaps up and he has to hide the surprised grin that’s threatening to break out on his face. Stevie scowls. “Yeah, just give me a sec.”

Jake nods, “Alright, I’ll be outside. It was really good to see you, Patrick,” he says and Patrick doesn’t blush again— _he does not_ , “you should come over to the woodshop while you’re in town. We can have a whiskey, or something.”

And thank god he leaves after that, because Patrick genuinely does not know what his response would’ve been. 

Once Jake clears out of the store he turns to Stevie with a grin, “I’m sorry, are _you_ and Jake a _thing_?”

Stevie levels him with a stare, “Do you really want to go there?” 

That immediately sobers Patrick up. “Um, no thank you.”

Stevie smirks, “Thought so. Well, I’m gonna head out. I was supposed to give David a ride home, but I trust you can do that?” 

Patrick glares at her and she laughs before picking up her bag and the bottle of wine and following Jake out of the store. 

Patrick finishes his ornament as people are clearing out of the store. David has flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ and is waiting for the last person to leave so he can lock up. 

Once he does he heads over to the cash register where David's put the bag of things from his mother's list. “How much do I owe you?” he asks and pulls out his wallet.

David waves him off, “It’s fine. It’s for your mom.” 

Patrick gives him a look, “David, you can not damage out this much product. Let me pay for it.” 

David huffs and grabs Patrick’s card and heads over to the register, “Fine. But I’m throwing in an extra body milk. I haven’t catalogued it into the system yet, so it doesn’t count.”

Patrick smiles, “Ok, David,” he says and grabs his card back, “Does your family get the same perk?” 

David clears his throat and glances back down at the receipt, “That’s different.”

Patrick places the tote down on the counter and glances around at the workspace that looks like a glitter bomb went off. “Can I help clean this up while you close out?” 

David smiles gratefully, “Yes, oh my god. Thank you. I can offer you compensation in the form of wine.” 

“I will never say no to free wine,” Patrick says, “especially because Stevie drank mine.” 

David laughs and grabs another bottle to open. Before he hands Patrick a cup, he puts it down on the counter and comes around to Patrick’s side. “I never got to properly say hello.”

“Well, you were busy with your thriving business. I didn’t mind.” 

“Well, hi.”

Patrick grins, “Hi.” 

David smiles and pulls him into a hug, “I’m really glad you’re back, Patrick.” 

Patrick wraps his arms around David and fights the urge to tuck into the crook of his neck because that is _not_ platonic whatsoever. “Me too.” 

Their hug is lurking into sailor-returning-from-a-journey-at-sea-territory so Patrick pulls away and grabs the broom that’s leaning up against the counter and starts sweeping around the store. 

He’s trying to figure out a way to get the excess glitter on the table into the dust pan with minimal fallout when David frowns over the register, “You would think that Jocelyn’s small child created a glitter mess that size instead of her.” 

Patrick smirks from where he’s sweeping the glitter off into the dustpan, “Oh, so you let children into the store?” 

David laughs, “Imagine? No. Children don’t go with my sand and stone aesthetic,” he says and finishes closing out the register. 

David disappears behind the curtain to the back and comes back out with two chairs that he sets up near the front door. 

Patrick finishes cleaning up the ornament debris from the table and ties off the trash. He grabs both of their cups and the bottle from the counter before falling into the seat across from David.

“So,” Patrick says and takes a sip of his wine, “You didn’t tell me you dated Jake.”

David rolls his eyes and grabs his cup from Patrick. “Well no one ever really ‘dates’ Jake,” he says and takes a sip, “and besides, you didn’t tell me about Ken.”

“I told you about Ken!”

David snorts, “Yeah, six months into your relationship.”

Patrick doesn’t really want to get into the exact reason why he kept his former long time boyfriend a secret from David for so long, so he just deflects. “So since you dated Jake and Stevie is still _dating_ Jake does that mean that at one point you all—”

“Oh god no. I mean, we almost— all? But Stevie and I agreed that would be a Bad Idea.” 

Patrick snorts, “I can’t believe you almost entered into a ménage a trois and didn’t tell me.”

David scowls. “See, you’re not hearing me because what I wanted was a ménage a _nah_ —” and David can’t even finish his sentence because Patrick has basically fallen on the floor because he’s laughing so hard, “Well if you’re just going to _laugh at me_ —”

“No, no,” Patrick says and tries to settle down. He lets out a few more giggles, “that’s just the funniest thing I’ve heard in a really long time.”

David sits up a little and preens. “Well, I mean you can go on about how funny I am, really, I don’t mind.” 

Patrick is still laughing a bit when he remembers, “Oh!” he says and finishes what’s left in his cup before putting it down on the floor, “I forgot to show you my ornament.” 

David grimaces, “You actually made one? I thought you were just being supportive, or whatever.”

Patrick smirks and heads over to where he left the ornament to dry, “I think you have plenty of support on your own.” he says and picks up the ornament before sitting back down in his chair and checking to make sure it’s dry. Once he’s confident it is he holds it out to David, “For you.” 

David stares at it and swallows, “This looks like—”

Patrick smiles softly, glancing down at the ornament he painted black except for the white thunderbolt in the center, “The Neil Barrett sweater you wore on the first day of freshman year? It is.” 

“I normally don’t do homemade ornaments, um,” David clears his throat, and takes it gently from Patrick’s hand, “but I can make an exception for this.”

Later, before they leave, he watches David carefully wrap the ornament in paper before tucking it into his work bag. 

“Fancy a ride home?” He asks and spins his keys around his finger.

“That depends,” David says, “on whether it’s in your car or your father’s pickup truck.” 

“It’s my car.”

“Then, yes.”

The drive to David’s apartment is filled with both of them trying to outdo the other on ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ (“The ride to my apartment is so short, Patrick! If we can only listen to one song, it has to be the best.”).

He pulls up in front of David’s apartment building (too quickly) and turns to David, “I’m really glad I came by your store tonight, David.” 

David bites his smile down, “Thank you.” 

“‘I’m glad you did too, Patrick. Especially because you helped me clean up after.’”

“Yeah, that’s what the ‘thank you’ was for.” David says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Patrick taps the steering wheel, “Um, since Christmas Eve is in a few days, I imagine your store is going to be pretty busy. I could, um, come by and help you with the register and stuff, if you wanted. If that would help?”

David bites his lip and fiddles with the strap on his bag. “You don’t have to do that,” he protests softly, “you’re on vacation.”

“I’d like to.” 

“Ok,” David says and grabs the handle on the door, “then I will see you tomorrow. Nine am.” 

“I’ll be there,” Patrick says when David gets out and pokes his head back in the car, “Goodnight, David.” 

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

* * *

Patrick shows up the next morning at 8:45 to see David blearily trying to open the doors. 

“Wow,” he whistles when David manages to get the door open, “David Rose up and functioning before nine am on a weekday? I never thought I’d see it.” 

David shoots him a dirty look before picking up his bag and heading inside. “Character assasination is not allowed before my morning coffee, thanks so much.” 

“Speaking of,” Patrick says and hands him one of the cups in his hands, “caramel macchiato, skim, with two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.” 

David takes the cup and cautiously and takes a sip. “You still know my coffee order?” 

“It’s not that difficult to remember,” Patrick shrugs, “I’ve had it memorized since I was fourteen.” 

David is eying him like he doesn’t know how to respond and then just settles on ignoring it. “I don’t normally like to be up before ten am on any day of the week,” he says instead and drops his bag behind the register, “but a business consultant told me once that keeping consistent store hours is key to my business.”

Patrick smirks and takes a sip of his tea, “It helps build customer loyalty.” 

“Mm, yes, I believe that was what you said.” He disappears into the back and comes back with a laptop that he places on the counter, “I was actually wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking a look at my margins for the quarter?” 

Patrick goes behind the counter to turn the POS system on and glances at the spreadsheet that David has pulled up on the laptop, “Yeah, of course.”

“I just want to make sure everything looks good before year end, and since you’re here it means I don’t have to ask my usual guy, which is Ray,” David says and fidgets with the lip balm display, “and he’s been trying to sell my family on a ‘Moira Rosé Wine Tour’ of the town and I would literally rather do _anything_ else—”

“David,” Patrick cuts in and David looks up at him, “I really don’t mind, I promise,” he says and shrugs, “Besides, you know how I feel about spreadsheets. I’ve been on vacation for two whole days and I feel like I’m growing through withdrawal.” 

David opens his mouth to say something and closes it for a moment before saying, “Ok.” 

And that’s how most of the day plays out. Patrick, running the numbers on David’s spreadsheet, ringing up customers at the cash whenever they’re ready and David on the floor, restocking products and adjusting displays while simultaneously trying to upsell every customer that walks into the store (he does, and it’s very impressive). 

The ease at which they dance around each other throws Patrick off balance. He knows he and David work off each other well (it’s what happens when you’ve been best friends for sixteen years), but there’s something else. Working with David here feels almost...domestic. And Patrick doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Could it have been this way the whole time? 

If he— if he had come back sooner, could this have been his life (working at Rose Apothecary, wine nights with Stevie and dinner with his parents) instead of just a weekend away?

Had he been completely wrong about everything?

“Uh oh,” David says jokingly and breaks Patrick out of his thoughts, “I hope you’re not getting ready to tell me my business is in trouble.” 

“What? Oh,” Patrick blinks and glances back at the screen, “no. Factoring in the sales from the holiday season your profit margins look really good. I’d have to look at the rest of the year in more detail to be certain, but it looks like you’ll end the year in the black which is— it’s really impressive, David.” 

David gives him a small smile. “Thank you,” he says and looks at Patrick in a way that makes him want to avert his gaze. “Are you ok?”

Patrick gives him a half-hearted smile and nods, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

David doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure, because you look—”

The bell over the door rings and their eyes shift over to where Alexis is holding it open for Ted. “ _Good afternoon_ , David,” she says and gives him a double eyed wink. 

David frowns. “Ew, what do you want?” 

“I wanted to bring over the cookies for the event tonight,” She says and flicks her wrist at the box in Ted’s hands, “Ivan got up extra early this morning to make sure we had enough, isn’t that the sweetest? I promised him some of those peanut butter thingies that those witches make on that sketchy farm.”

David rolls his eyes, “First of all, they are Mennonites. Second of all, are you going to pay for those peanut butter squares?” Alexis plays with the end of her braid and says nothing, “Mm, I thought so. You’re in luck, because I already damaged some out for my lunch—”

Patrick snorts. “ _David_.” 

David shoots him a look, “ _What?_ ” he asks sharply, “It was only one,” Patrick raises an eyebrow, “Ok, two,” Patrick tilts his head but maintains eye contact, “Fine it was _five_. And you know, I was gonna offer you one, but now I don’t think I will.” 

“Oooh, can I have one?” Alexis asks.

“ _Absolutely_ not,” David says and gestures to Ted, “and what is Ted even doing here?”

Ted lifts up the boxes in his hands, “I was walking back to my office when I ran into Alexis and she asked me to Apothe- _carry_ these in for her.” 

“Oh my god,” David looks disgusted and gestures vaguely to an empty space on the counter, “put them here, I guess.” 

David opens one of the boxes and pulls a cookie out, “Well let’s at least make sure they taste good.” 

Ted’s eyes widen, “Oh wait, those are—” he gets cut off when David bites into the cookie, “actually dog treats for my office. The cookies are the bottom box,” he finishes lamely. 

“This looks like a real cookie,” David says sullenly with his mouth full, “what am I gonna do now?” 

Patrick bites his lip and tries to keep the judgement off his face, “Are you gonna finish it?” 

David stares at him for a moment before slowly chewing. “Shut up.”

* * *

“Hide me, please.” 

Patrick has just enough time to drop his plate onto a nearby table before David tugs on his arm and drags him out of the room. “Where are we going?”

David gestures vaguely in another direction like that’s going to answer his question. They reach the bottom of the stairs before David stops and grabs a bottle of champagne from a table in the next room. “Somewhere. _Anywhere_. Ray has gotten to that weird phase of being drunk where he just compliments my mother. He keeps trying to get her to do an encore of The Number and if I have to do that fucking thing again I’m going to pull my hair out.”

Patrick pouts, “Aw, but you spent so much time straightening it.” David stops halfway up the stairs to turn and glare at him. 

They make it into David’s room— well, his old room. It’s a makeshift guest room that mostly holds his mother’s wig overflow now. David finally lets go of Patrick’s sweater and flops down on the bed and tries to twist the wire cage off of the cork. 

After he closes the door Patrick sits on the corner of the bed and grabs the bottle from David. “Here, let me do that before you accidentally blind yourself.”

David hands him the bottle wordlessly and Patrick grabs it and gets to work. He twists the metal to give his hands something to do so he doesn’t reach over and brush the straightened hair that’s fallen over David's eyes. He stares at the cork more intently than he needs to because if he doesn’t then he’ll end up staring at David’s dimples and the soft smile that seems to take over his face whenever they’re together. 

Patrick finally manages to pop the cork without champagne bubbling over and looks around, “We didn’t grab any cups.” 

“Patrick, we've known each other since we were fourteen. You’ve seen a picture of my original nose, I think it’s ok for us to share the bottle.” David rolls his eyes, then adds, “Unless you have cooties or something.”

Patrick laughs, “Ah no. I don’t think so. But, you’d have to check with Rachel to be sure.” 

David clears his throat and gives Patrick a coy look, like he doesn’t want Patrick to know what he’s thinking about. “Well, I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

Patrick scoots up so he and David are pressed shoulder to shoulder against the bed. They pass the bottle between them, taking sips. The bubbles burn his throat a little, but the champagne is sweet so he doesn’t mind. 

He and David catch up on current workplace drama— David at the Blouse Barn (“If Wendy would just let me handle all of the creative decisions for the store I could turn it into the upscale boutique it has the potential to be. I mean, what does Wendy even know about taste— have you seen those chunky plastic necklaces she wears?”) and Patrick interning for Ray (“Honestly, half of the incorporation papers I file are for him. Did you know he’s trying to open a tropical fish emporium?”) 

By the time Patrick has finished outlining the plan for Ray’s new closet organizing business the champagne has started to get to him and he feels floaty. 

David laughs, “You are such a lightweight.” 

Patrick giggles, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“Oh, please—” David rolls his eyes and takes another swig from the bottle, “I bet you’re a cheap date.”

Patrick rolls on his side to face David, “You say cheap date, I say ‘fiscally responsible’, because the less drinks I have to order to get the job done, the more money I save.” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” David snorts and tips the bottle back to finish it, “you would.”

Patrick watches David’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and Patrick really needs to be looking somewhere else, because it’s suddenly very hot in this room. But David’s lips are so shiny from the champagne and some of it has spilled—

“Oh here—” Patrick says and reaches out to wipe at the corner of David’s mouth, and he can feel the smile underneath the pad of his thumb, “you had some, um. Champagne.” 

David sighs, “My hero.” 

Patrick should move his hand from where it is. He should leave, and head back to his and Rachel’s apartment. He should— but he can’t. He’s frozen, and his heart is stuttering in his chest in a way that he doesn’t understand. 

David tilts his head a bit and he looks at Patrick like...like he hung the moon or something and he wants to— he just needs to...lean up and angle his head—

_BEEEEEEP!_

Fuck. Patrick shoots up to turn the alarm off on his phone. Of course that was a dream.

Patrick remembers that memory, during his first year of grad school. He remembers hiding in David’s old room, laughing and drinking champagne, but there wasn’t— Patrick hadn’t tried to kiss him that night. 

His subconscious has been going back to that particular night a lot recently, and if Patrick is being honest with himself (and he’s had to get _very_ honest with himself in the past few years) that’s probably the night he would pinpoint that his feelings for David had changed, even if he wasn’t aware at the time. 

There’s a moment, when a best friend can go from being a best-friend to being a best-friend-and-something-more, and if you blink, you’ll miss it. 

Not only did Patrick blink, he was fucking blind to it.   
  
So yeah, if he had to pick a moment, where David went from just David to _David,_ it would probably be that one. And it’s been a downward pining spiral from there. 

He rolls out of bed and gets ready for the day so he can pop over to the cafe before the store opens. 

He greets David at the store with a coffee like he did the day before, “Good morning, David.”

David frowns and accepts the cup, “Ok you’re at like an eleven right now, and I need you to come down to where I’m at on one.” 

“Come on,” Patrick bounces in excitement once they get into the store, “where’s your Christmas Eve spirit?” 

“Doesn’t clock in until lunch, unfortunately,” David says and takes a sip of his coffee.

The store is only open for a half day today, so there’s a mad rush of customers as soon as they officially open.

“Ok, not to like detract from my business or the quality of my products,” David says once the store is empty again, “but gift giving is supposed to be a curated, personal experience that should be planned well ahead of Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Patrick says, heading over to the table to help David restock some product, “if gift giving were an Olympic sport you’d be a gold medalist.” 

David smiles, “Well, as long as you know.” 

Once they’re finished he helps David rearrange the tables on the floor in preparation for Boxing Day on the 26th. 

“Oh, there’s a box of stuff behind the counter, did you want me to put that out as well?” Patrick asks. 

“No, that’s some last minute stuff I need to bring over to my parents for tonight.” 

“Oh yes,” Patrick grins, “the famous Rose Christmas Eve party. Did you actually pay for those decorations, or were you planning on ‘damaging them out’?”

David rolls his eyes, “Everyone chips in. My dad has a very specific vision and it’s really annoying that he takes so much authority over a holiday that he technically has no claim over.” 

Patrick nods solemnly. “Did you have time to mood board a color scheme at least?”

“Of course, I’m not an animal.”

“So since the Christmas party is tonight,” Patrick says as nonchalantly as he can, “does this mean you’ll be doing The Number?” 

David frowns, “What do you think?”

Patrick leans forward and looks up at David, “Will you be straightening your hair for it?”

“Absolutely not, I gave that up in college, you know that.” 

Patrick shrugs, “A guy can dream.”

“After we close up the shop do you want to come with me to the bakery in Elmdale? My father ordered a chocolate torte and a Christmas Pavlova in addition to all of the cookies that Ivan’s baked.” 

“A torte and a pavlova? Wow,” Patrick whistles, “You guys are getting fancy this year.” 

David shrugs. “Yeah well, we had to make it extra special this year, since you’re home and all.”

And Patrick doesn’t know what to fucking do with that. 

* * *

The party is in full swing once he gets to the Rose’s house. 

“You look nice,” his mom comments and smooths her hand over the sleeve of his black sweater. 

Patrick shrugs shyly and tugs at the cuff, “What? It’s Christmas, what am I supposed to do, not look nice?” 

“Whatever you say honey,” his mom says noncommittally, “I’m going to go say hi to Ronnie. Are you going to be ok?” 

Patrick rolls his eyes, “Yes mom, I’m gonna be fine.” 

“ _Pa_ -trick,” he hears someone sing behind him, and he turns to see Mr. and Mrs. Rose walking up to him, “how felicitous! The prodigal son has returned for our Yuletide celebration!” 

Patrick blushes and leans in to kiss her on both cheeks, “Hi Mrs. Rose, Mr. Rose.” 

“Hello, Patrick,” Mr. Rose smiles, “how are you doing?” 

“I’m good, thank you. How are things at the motel?” 

They make small talk about the motel’s expansion until Mr. Rose has to excuse himself, “Someone is trying to use the menorah as a serving tray. It was good to see you, Patrick!” 

“You too, Mr. Rose.” 

Mrs. Rose excuses herself a minute later (“I am being called away to give a pre-Number performance, excuse me sweet Pat.”) and he’s left alone again until he sees someone approaching him with two champagne glasses. 

“I thought you were hiding from me,” he says to Rachel when she walks up to him. 

“Not this time,” she laughs and hands him a glass, “I’ve been really swamped at the hospital. People being stupid on the ice and all that.” 

They’re catching up when David comes up to them, looking stressed. “Aw,” Patrick says, “you didn’t straighten your hair.” 

“I told you I wasn’t going to, so your disappointment is of your own making.” 

Patrick is about to respond when Alexis comes up to tug on his arm, “David, I need you—hi Patrick, hi Rachel—I need you to come help me fix the Christmas tree so I can take pictures for instagram.” 

David groans, “No, you do it. I’m not even on instagram anymore.” 

“But, David,” she whines, “it’s for the store. Do you not want to boost post holiday engagement?” 

David sighs like he’d rather do anything else, “Ugh. Fine, but I get final approval.” 

Patrick watches them leave and turns to Rachel, “Do you want to go hide somewhere?”

Rachel grins, “Absolutely. But first, refills.” 

They find themselves in the breakfast nook of the Rose’s kitchen with a plate of canapes between them. 

“So,” Rachel says and shoves one into her mouth, “how’s it been being back?” 

“Good,” he says and takes a sip of his drink, “weird.” 

“I bet it’s been nice seeing everyone again. Stevie, your parents,” she pauses and winks at him, “ _David_.” 

“Fuck,” he swears, “is it that obvious to literally everyone?” 

“Yes,” she says sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “if that makes you feel weird or—”

“I thought you were together,” she says softly, “when you told me you were gay. I thought that you were going to tell me that you and David were together next. I thought about it a lot, because it makes sense, y’know?” 

“Oh.”

“The only thing that upset me about your move to Toronto is that it felt like you were punishing yourself for doing what you thought was right— I mean, you went about it the wrong way and I’m glad that you’ve worked on your communication issues, but. I just want you to be happy, Patty,” she says and grabs his hand, “and if David makes you happy you should tell him.”

David eventually finds them and grabs Patrick’s glass from his hand and takes a sip, “Kill me, please.” 

Rachel throws her hands up, “I swore an oath that I’d do no harm, sorry.”

David turns to him desperately, but all Patrick can do is grin so big it borders on gleeful, “Does this mean it’s almost time for The Number?” 

David shakes his head vigorously, “No. Actually I discussed it with my mother and we agreed that it should be more of a bi-annual thing instead.” 

He hears Mrs. Rose calling David's name in the next room and turns so he can look David in the eye when he shouts, “He’s in here, Mrs. Rose!” 

David looks betrayed. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Good luck, David.” 

David rolls his eyes. “It’s break a leg.” 

Patrick grins, “That too.” 

Once they hear the tuning of the piano him and Rachel make their way into the living room where David is standing begrudgingly next to his mother. 

“I don’t know if this gets worse or better year after year,” Rachel says. 

“Oh, better,” Patrick is practically bouncing up and down from excitement, “definitely better.” 

“Dearest, friends, colleagues and devotees,” Moira starts and flips the end of her wig around her neck like a scarf, “John and I express heartfelt salutations and welcome you into our humble chateau. Now if you all don’t mind, my son and I,” she gestures to David who just rolls his eyes, “would like to perform a little something we whipped up.”

_“Ding”_

_“Dong”_

_“Ding”_

_“Dong”_

_“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, the keys to a Lamborghini—”_

“Oh my god,” Rachel mutters beside him, “put it away, Brewer.” 

Patrick’s hand flexes around the glass and he feels himself turning bright red and risks a glance down because oh god, he’s not—

“I meant the heart eyes,” she cackles and Patrick turns a deeper shade of red. 

“Shut up.” 

“I gotta say, I’ve seen a lot of looks on a lot of people’s faces over the years watching this,” she says and takes a sip of her drink, “smitten is not one of them.” 

“ _Oh come all ye faithful—”_

_“Deck the halls with boughs of holly—"_

_“Yes, I said faithful, which rules out all of you!”_

Patrick laughs genuinely into his drink and Rachel gives him a disgusted look, “What?” he asks. 

“I hope your gift for David this year is a Christmas kiss,” Rachel tips her glass back and finishes her drink. 

Patrick pointedly doesn’t look her way for the rest of the song. 

David comes up to him after he’s finished the song and two encores (only one of which was demanded by Patrick), and frowns, which makes Patrick grin, “You know, that almost made this entire trip worth it.”

David raises an eyebrow, “Oh, just the song? Nothing else?”

Patrick smirks, “Not that I can think of.”

David rolls his eyes, “Well if you’re done enjoying my suffering for the night, Stevie and Rachel have stolen two bottles of the good champagne _and_ found a joint.” 

“Lead the way.”

He spends the rest of the night shoulder to shoulder with Rachel on the floor of David’s old room trying to see who can do ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ with the best Moira Rose impression (David wins by a landslide). 

His muscles feel like liquid when he finally takes his leave a few hours later, following David down to the coat room (which is basically just the closet by the front door). “Good night, David.” 

David rolls his eyes, “Goodnight, Patrick,” 

He grabs his coat and wraps his scarf around his neck and smirks, “Remember to leave out milk and cookies for Santa before you go to bed tonight,” he says and tries to keep his face straight, “and make sure they’re actually cookies and not dog treats this time.” 

David glares at him. “Fuck off,” he says and tries to fight off the smile on his face, “Merry Christmas, asshole.” 

Patrick laughs. “Merry Christmas, David.” 

* * *

It’s been a long time since Patrick has seen David in person, on Christmas, so when David asks if Patrick wants to come over for drinks after dinner with his family, he practically jumps at the chance. 

He parks his car outside of David’s apartment and just barely remembers to grab the blue gift bag before braving the brief Christmas chill while he runs into the building, managing to catch one of David’s neighbors as they’re getting into the elevator.

His mouth goes dry when David answers the door. 

“I, um. I like your sweater,” is all he manages to say in greeting. 

David looks down at the sparkly gray zig zagged sweater, “Oh, thanks. It’s an old Christopher Kane that I got for a steal on eBay,” he says nonchalantly. “Wine?” 

Patrick clears his throat, willing his voice to come back, “Sure.” 

David purses his lips and chuckles a bit while he grabs the open bottle on the table. His eyes flick to the bag in Patrick’s hand while he pours a glass, “You can put that over there next to mine,” he says and points to the coffee table in the living room with a tastefully wrapped box on top. 

He heads into the living room and lets himself smile a little bit when he sees the ornament he made hanging on the front of David's tree and places the bag on the table. He's taking his coat off to lay on the back of the couch when David comes in and hands him a glass. He manages to grab it just before David falls onto the couch next to him. “So,” Patrick says and takes a sip, “do you want to go first, or me?” 

David nods vigorously and places his wine glass on the table, “Me, definitely,” he says and picks up the shiny silver package off of the table and hands it to Patrick.

It shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows David that he’s a meticulous gift wrapper. Patrick can practically see his reflection in the shiny silver paper and runs his finger over the glittery ribbon tied into a perfect bow. 

He can feel David bouncing with anticipation next to him and slowly unties the ribbon, pulling it out of its loop as far as it’ll go for dramatic effect. He places it on the table and flips it over and tries to bite back his smile as he slowly pulls off a piece of tape when he hears David huff. 

“Patrick!”

He looks up innocently, “Yes?”

David does not look amused. “Are you doing this on purpose?” 

_Absolutely._ “No,” he says coyly.

He finally manages to unwrap the package, and is a little less meticulous with the tape on the garment box (“Patrick I swear to God if you don’t open this right now I’m going to take it back.”). 

He pulls the sweater out of the box and swallows the lump in his throat. “David—”

“You said you wanted to spruce up your wardrobe a bit, so,” David shrugs, “I thought this would be a good start.” 

He runs his hands over the ribbed fabric and the mock neck of the bright cobalt blue sweater. The fabric is thinner and the fit looks slimmer than what he’s used to, but it still feels like him. “It’s...it’s perfect. Thank you, David.” 

David waves his hand, but still preens a little bit, “I love any excuse to buy a good sweater,” he says, grabbing the bag off the table with a little shimmy, “My turn.”

Patrick looks from the sweater to the bag and flushes, “Oh— no. You don’t, um. You don’t have to open that, right now.”

“Are you kidding? This is literally the best part of Christmas,” he says and pulls at the tissue paper.

Patrick feels panicked, because compared to David’s gift, his is— “You’re gonna be so underwhelmed when you open it,” he says even though David is pulling it out of the bag, “See? It’s–it’s nothing.” 

David is holding the frame in his hands and staring at it wordlessly, and the silence is starting to make Patrick’s skin itch, so he tries to break the tension, “I, um, had Stevie mail it to me after you opened. It’s the—”

“Receipt from my first sale at the store,” David finishes for him with a soft smile, “this is _not_ nothing.”

“Oh.”

David’s eyes are shining when he looks up at Patrick, “Thank you, Patrick.” 

“I— yeah, of course.” 

David smirks and runs his fingers along the edge of the dark wood, “This is a solid frame.”

Patrick smirks and puts his box back onto the table. “You taught me well.”

David’s eyes are dancing with amusement when Patrick looks back up, and he’s suddenly very glad he’s sitting down, because his knees would most definitely buckle if he was standing. For all that people (see: David) like to talk about how expressive and loud his eyes are, they’re nothing compared to David’s. David doesn’t express what he’s feeling out loud most of the time, but he doesn’t need to because Patrick can usually see it in his eyes. Amusement, anger, disgust, hunger...it’s always there. 

And right now David’s eyes make him feel like he’s on fire. 

He sits back against the couch and notices he’s much closer to David than he was a minute ago. David turns to face Patrick and props his head in his hand and continues to give Patrick that soft smile that he’s beginning to think is just for him. His mind flashes back to his dream from yesterday and how similar their position was then to now. Except now he can actually tilt his head up a bit and—

David clears his throat and leans back against the couch. “Movie?”

Patrick takes a moment to swallow down the disappointment before he composes himself enough to say, “Sure.” 

David smiles and brings up Interflix, “Ok so I have a few suggestions, but since you are a guest, and I am notoriously a generous person, I will let you pick.” 

Patrick feels himself slip back into the familiar comfort of their banter and smirks, “No suggestions needed. We're watching _Die Hard_.” 

David grimaces, “ _Die Hard_?” 

Patrick tries to look serious, “Yes. It’s the best Christmas movie, bar none.” He watches David’s face for another minute before bursting out laughing, “I’m kidding. Oh my god, you should’ve seen your _face—_ ”

“Rude-!”

“That was priceless,” he finishes and lets out another little laugh. “Ok, let’s hear your suggestions.” 

They finally settle on _The Holiday_ and if David notices that Patrick sinks a little deeper next to him on the couch when he dims the lights, he doesn’t say anything. 

He feels something shift in the air about halfway through the movie. 

_“Iris if you were a melody…”_

David clears his throat and shifts a bit so he’s leaning against Patrick, and after a moment let’s his head drop onto Patrick’s shoulder.

_“I only used the good notes.”_

“David,” he says while Jack Black’s piano plays in the background, “um—”

David doesn’t take his eyes off of the screen. “Yes?” 

_Here goes nothing._ “Did, um— earlier, did we almost have a moment?” 

“Yes.” 

“David?” 

“Mm?” 

“Can I— would it be ok if I kissed you?” 

David’s eyes flick up towards him, and in the glow of the television he can see something flickering in them. Patrick’s eyes go down from his eyes to his lips, and instead of saying anything David just tips his head up ever so slightly and brushes his lips against Patrick’s. 

David’s touch is feather light, and if he couldn’t feel the cool press of David’s rings against his jaw he might’ve thought he was imagining this. 

“Thank you,” he says after David pulls away.

David rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and smiles, “For what?” 

“I— ah,” he lets out a nervous laugh, “I’ve wanted to do that for like, a really long time. And I was scared that I’d never get up the nerve to, so um. I just wanted to thank you, for making that happen for us.” 

David tucks his smile into the corner of his mouth and nods against Patrick’s shoulder, “Well, like I said, I _am_ a very generous person.” 

This time it’s Patrick who leans down to kiss David. He presses more firmly into David than he usually does for a second kiss, but he can’t help himself. David gasps lightly at the pressure and Patrick takes the opportunity to bite at his bottom lip. 

A needy sound escapes from David and he pushes against Patrick a bit so he can lean over him and slip in a little tongue. Patrick groans against David’s mouth and grasps at the back of David’s sweater until he’s fully seated in Patrick’s lap. 

He breaks the kiss and focuses his attention to David’s neck. He nips at the bottom and slowly presses kisses all the way up when David tips his head back and grips Patrick’s shoulders. He finds that spot on his neck, just underneath his ear that he’s imagined kissing a million times— so he does.

“Patrick,” David gasps, “bed.” 

Patrick looks up at David and runs his thumb along the curve of David’s jaw, “I— yeah?”

“Yes,” he whines when Patrick leans up and bites at his jaw, “please.”

Patrick nods and David gets up to take off his sweater so he can hang it on the table near his bed in the next room. 

Patrick kicks off his shoes and takes his own sweater and places it on top of David’s on the table. David makes a noise of approval and Patrick taps his chest and pushes him down on the bed.

David lands with an ‘oof’ and smirks, “Eager, I see.” 

Patrick laughs, “You have no idea.”

David’s arms loop around his neck and pull him down into another needy kiss. Patrick braces his hands on the mattress but needs to put them somewhere else, so he leans on one hand and runs the other along the hem of David’s undershirt. David untucks it and pushes it up so that Patrick can run his hand up David’s stomach and along his torso. 

Patrick has thought about what is underneath David’s sweaters far more than he’d like to, and he feels breathless as his nails scratch against the coarse hair dusting across David’s chest. He finds one of David’s nipples and rubs it gently between his fingers.

David breaks away with a gasp, “Patrick—” he says and runs his hands down Patrick’s back before he feels them come up beneath his undershirt. 

Patrick whines into David’s neck when he feels his nails scratch against his back, “Fuck, David—” 

David leans up to kiss him again, and Patrick must be dreaming. But the firmness of David’s erection pressing into his thigh reminds him that he is very much awake. 

Patrick thinks of all of the restless nights where he could think of nothing but this. Pressed against David, kissing him, wanting him— the fantasy sometimes being the only thing that made Toronto worth it. 

_Toronto._ Fuck.

It washes over him like a cold reminder. 

He’s leaving in a few days. Back to another city, another life. 

A life he doesn’t have with David. 

“Wait, David—this isn’t—I can’t,” Patrick sits up and leans back on his knees, “I can’t do this.” 

David leans up against his pillows and looks confused. “What are you talking about? I thought you wanted this.” 

“I did. I _do_ ,” He says and reaches out to grab David’s arm, but thinks better of it and pulls back, “but I just, I can’t do this right now, with you David.”

Patrick sees a look on David’s face that he hasn’t seen since they were teenagers. He can see David’s walls slamming up at an alarming speed, like he’s trying to protect himself from something—from _Patrick—_ and that’s not what he wants at _all_. 

David clenches his jaw and sits up on the bed, tucking himself away from Patrick. “I, um,” he clears his throat and focuses his eyes on the bedspread, “I think you should leave.” 

“David, I—”

“Just go home, Patrick.”

* * *

He tells his parents that a work emergency came up and that’s why he needs to leave a few days early. 

It’s a shitty excuse that he knows his parents see through, but thankfully they don't say anything. 

He packs up his things, skipping folding and just shoving his clothes into his duffle bag. Only once he finishes does he realize that he left the sweater David gave him at his apartment. He sighs and zips up the bag and heads downstairs. 

His mom hands him a paper bag with a muffin, “I know it’s only a few hours, but I don’t want you to get hungry.”

He grabs the bag and leans down to press a kiss on her cheek, “Thank you.”

His father claps him on the shoulder, “It was really nice having you home for Christmas, son.”

Patrick smiles and hopes its convincing. “Yeah, it really was.” 

His mother looks at him hopefully, “You’ll come visit more often now, won’t you?” 

Patrick clears his throat and nods, “Yeah, uh. I’ll be back in a few months, maybe.”

“I’d like that,” his mother smiles. “You drive safely, sweet boy.” 

He pulls both of his parents into another hug before grabbing his things and heading out. 

He throws his things into his trunk quickly, and is spraying his windshield to start the slow process of removing the ice from his windshield when he feels someone watching him. 

He looks up to see David standing awkwardly at the edge of his driveway. He’s wearing a soft gray sweater underneath his winter coat. His hair isn’t done, and he keeps fiddling with the black frames on his face. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Patrick’s ever seen. 

“Um,” David starts and fidgets with something in his hands, which turns out to be the sweater he gave Patrick last night, “you left this last night.”

Patrick slowly walks down the driveway until he’s standing in front of David. He gently takes the sweater from David’s hands, “Thank you.”

David still looks guarded when he asks, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

David’s jaw clenches briefly. “So what, you’re just gonna— leave without saying goodbye? I thought you were done with running away.”

Patrick sighs, “I’m just doing what you told me to, David!”

“Oh my god, you are such a drama queen!” David huffs exasperatedly, “When I said go home, I meant to your parents’ house, not to Toronto!” 

“Oh.”

David’s eyes flicker down to the sidewalk. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?” 

Patrick looks down at the sweater in his hands, “I’m sorry.”

“For trying to leave without saying goodbye, or for kissing me last night?”

Patrick’s head snaps up, “For not saying goodbye. I— David,” he reaches out and grips David’s hand that’s curled into a fist, “I don’t regret kissing you last night. I-I could never.” 

David’s lower lip wobbles. “B-but you said you didn’t want me— that you didn't want _this_.”

“No, I said I couldn’t do _this_ ,” Patrick says and gestures wildly at the space between them and hears what just came out of his mouth, “which in hindsight wasn’t much better.” He sets the sweater over his shoulder so he can grab both of David’s hands, “But what I meant is that I don’t just want you for just one random holiday weekend. I want— so much more than that. I want you always.”

David is still looking down at where their hands are entwined, “What— what do you mean by that?” 

Patrick chuckles, tears springing in the corners of his eyes, and leans down to tap his forehead against David’s. “I mean I’m in love with you, dummy.” 

David laughs wetly, “Dummy? Is that how you talk to the man you love?”

Patrick drops one of David’s hands so he can tip up David’s chin to look him in the eye. “Do you— um, do you have any particular reactions or feelings a-about what I just said?”

David rolls his eyes. “About you calling me a dummy? Yeah, I’m not a huge fan.”

“ _David_.” 

David reaches up and grabs the hand Patrick is resting on his jaw and brings it down to his chest, over his heart. “Patrick, I— yeah.”

Hope blooms in his chest. “Yeah?”

David smiles and nods, “Yes. I-I love you too. Of course I love you.”

Patrick snorts and bites his lip “Oh, _of course_. ‘Of course’ he says like it’s some _common fact_.”

David drops his hands so he can gesture wildly. “It is! I left you pining voicemails like some sort of...inebriated Mr. Darcy!” 

Patrick laughs and catches David’s hands, pulling him close, “I loved those voicemails. They're what brought me here.” 

David’s eyes flick to his car and he bites his lip, “Are you really leaving?” 

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t want to.” 

David grips his hands but still looks hesitant, “You don’t?” 

Patrick pulls him closer and presses his forehead against David’s. “Ask me, David.” He says quietly, “Please just ask me.”

David closes his eyes tightly. “I don’t want to,” he says quietly, “I can’t— I don’t know if I can handle you saying no.” 

Patrick places a kiss against his temple, “David, _ask me_.”

David opens his eyes and Patrick could cry because he looks so hopeful. “Patrick, please. Will you...will you come back?” 

Patrick drops his hands and winds them around David’s waist so he can pull him into a kiss. It’s gentle, but hopefully conveys everything he can’t say.

David breaks away and bites back a smile, “That’s not a yes.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yes, David,” he says and pulls him in for another kiss. “Yeah. I’ll come back. I’ll come home.”

David finally smiles. The one that no one ever gets to see: it’s bright, and toothy and tilted to one side (it’s Patrick’s favorite). He wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and pulls him close, “Oh good. I know of a small general store that could use a full time business manager, if you’re interested.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr, come say [hi](https://lilythesilly.tumblr.com) (or yell)!


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